


You'll Be Okay

by padaleckifantrash



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anorexia, Burning, Cutting, Depression, Eating Disorders, M/M, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 15:33:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5631706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/padaleckifantrash/pseuds/padaleckifantrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam struggles with self-harm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sam sat on his small bed in the bunker, fingers shaking as he took the silver razorblade to his broad wrist.

It all started when he began seeing Lucifer and how pressing his hand injury had made him go away. It wasn’t really the only thing that it made go away. For a split second, that pain had blurred his mind, burned up his guilt and sadness. Ever since he had interacted with Lucifer during the previous hunt, the scar had not worked. He began cutting himself to make him go away again and when Castiel had transferred his mental brokenness to himself, he hadn’t stopped. It felt good to Sam.

Blood dribbled from the shallow cut on his wrist and Sam bit at his lip, some tears coming to his eyes. It wasn’t painful; the blood coming up from his skin seemed to symbolize all the bullshit emotions he had bottled up and once it started coming out, he felt the emotions release. Sam gripped the small blade and pressed it harder against his arm, swiping down over and over until the tears spilled over and were sliding over his flushed cheeks. He swallowed hard, chewing at the inside of his cheek now as he focused his cutting on a particularly shallow cut, trying to make it deeper. Small sobs released from his throat and he pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead. 

“Sam, do you wanna get some food or want me to bring somethin’ ba—“ the voice began and Sam visibly jumped, heading to his dresser and pulling down his flannel sleeves. Usually he would have wiped off his razor before he put it back and would have cleaned his fresh wounds. 

“Sammy, what are you doing…?” Dean whispered lowly, crossing over the small expanse of the room in a few strides, gripping Sam’s forearm and spinning him around, lifting the bloodied fabric up and over his arm. Sam winced, looking away from his concerned brother. He had never expected him to find out.

“Sam, what the fuck?” Dean growled, clutching Sam’s crimson-colored arm in his large hand. 

“I…” was all Sam could manage; he couldn’t come up with any good excuse to why he did it.

Dean sighed loudly, pulling him to sit on the bed and went to the bathroom down the hall to bring back a damp washcloth, gauze, and some antibiotic cream. When he came back, Sam was sitting with an empty stare at his wrist, some droplets still dribbling out of the red stripes. Dean’s heart broke so much that he could’ve sworn he heard it break. The bed dipped and Dean sat beside his younger brother and pulled his injured arm into his lap.

“This might sting.” Dean placed the cloth against Sam’s arm and felt no flinch from the other male. “That didn’t hurt at all?” he asked softly.

“I’ve gotten used to it,” Sam admitted, his voice a gruff whisper. The tears were no longer fresh in his eyes and some were stained on his cheeks. 

“How many times have you done this?” Dean questioned, dabbing the wet hand towel against the wounded appendage before using the dry part to dry it off and put the antibiotic cream against it. His calloused fingers were gentle against Sam’s skin, more gentle than he even handled his Baby. 

“I don’t remember,” Sam answered, “I’ve been doing it since Lucifer. I know that at least.”

“Jesus, Sammy,” Dean breathed, hand stilling from how shocked he was. “Why?” After his continuous spread of ointment, he wrapped the gauze around the area. Sam’s arm was limp in his grip.

“I don’t know. It helps me feel better.” Sam shrugged, only looking at his arm, not daring to look at the heartbreak that was surely on his brother’s face. 

“Why didn’t you just come to me?” Dean whined slightly, letting go of Sam’s arm and looking at his face. Tear tracks were barely visible but they screamed at Dean, telling him he was a failure of a brother.

Sam snorted and shook his head, some chestnut locks falling in front of his face.

"Yeah, like you’d ever want to have some chick flick moment and talk to me about anything deep.”

“Well, if it was as serious as this shit, I would have listened for hours! Days, even, Sammy! Do you not understand how bad this is?” Dean’s voice rose, taking Sam’s head into his hands. “Sammy, you are my fuckin’ everything, and ever since I was four, I was told to take care of you. You have been my world for this fuckin’ long and you can talk to me about anything. I swear.” Dean pushed the hair out of Sam’s face and behind his ear, a genuine look of love and concern on his rough, tired features. Sam opened his mouth to say something but all that came out was a pained noise. Renewed tears began pouring from his hazel eyes and he leaned in to bury his face into Dean’s shoulder. The sobs came out loudly and he gripped the front of Dean’s red flannel. 

“Shhh, it’s okay, Sammy. I’m here. I gotcha,” Dean murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the side of Sam’s head, arms wrapped tight around his little brother’s big body, holding onto him tight as if he were to fall if he let go.

“It’s okay, I promise,” Dean whispered, “you’ll be okay.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean watches Sam closely after his encounter with him and his cuts. He doesn't like what he sees.

Dean had been watching Sam through his mind’s microscope throughout the past two months. They went on hunts and even then, Dean paid more attention to Sam. He tried picking up little things that he saw emotionally pain Sam but for the most part, he looked desolate. Sam was only ever animated when it came to pretending to be a federal agent or a priest or whatever bullshit they needed to be. When they were by themselves, Sam would just stare at the table or car dashboard and when he was made to research, he wrote fewer notes.

Sam was also seeming to get tired quicker. He was off his hunting game, almost getting slashed in the throat by a werewolf’s claws. Dean had confronted him after three almost deadly encounters—

_“Sam, what the fuck is up?”_

_“Nothing, Dean. Just tired.”_

\--but Sam never let him in. Dean had told his baby brother that he could come to him with anything and now Sam just wouldn’t come to him at all. 

\---------

“Yeah, uh, can I get the house cheeseburger with fries and a beer?” Dean asked the waitress, flashing her a charming smile.

She smiled and her cheeks flushed a tad pink before she turned to the other man at the table. 

“Anythin’ for you, sugar?” she drawled, her smile genuine.

“Black coffee, please,” Sam murmured, his menu untouched in front of him. The waitress’s smile faltered but she kept it up.

“You sure, hon? We have some pretty delicious thin—“ 

“Yes.” Sam’s reply was quick and his tired hazel eyes darted anxiously between the napkins and the bright wooden table. 

Their perky waitress nodded, eyebrows furrowed with slight confusion at the way he was behaving.

“Well, alright,” she said softly before walking back to the kitchen—not without a worried glance in his direction.

Sam hated the way people looked at him. They were always looking and he hated their concerned fucking faces. 

“Sam, really, what the fuck?” Dean asked sternly, hands clasped in front of him on the table, knuckles turning white from how tightly his fingers were wrapped around each other. He was trying to be patient, he really was, but he was grasping at straws at that point.

“Dean, I promise, noth—“

“Bull. Shit. Sam.”

“I’m just not hungry! Jesus!” Sam growled at his brother, lip curling up.

Dean took in a deep breath and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying not to cause a scene in the friendly mom and pop diner which was situated in a friendly town in Texas. He didn’t want to draw attention.

As Dean ate, he kept an eye on Sam who sipped at his black coffee. "Best in Texas!" the porcelain said. Dean internally flipped it off; anything happy was pissing him off at this point. The cup didn’t fucking get to be happy if there was something wrong with Sam.

\---------

Over the next few days, Dean took Sam out to eat more and more after watching him eat nothing at the bunker. Even the salads Dean sacrificed his masculinity for he wouldn’t eat fully. He’d pick at the lettuce carefully, eating the vegetables but none of the cheese or croutons or even the meat he’d put in it. 

Even though Dean was spending a shit-load of money on their restaurant rendezvous, he needed to find out for himself if Sam was really what that stupid Google article had said.

_The screen flashed to a Mayo Clinic article._  


_“Anorexia nervosa Symptoms”  
_

_He nervously scanned through the webpage, always checking to see if Sam was around; he couldn’t let him know he was suspicious or he would just draw further into himself.  
_

_He read the symptoms and signs and sighed. Sam had plenty of them.  
_

_Fatigue  
_

_Severely restricting food intake through dieting or fasting  
_

_Refusal to eat  
_

_Denial of hunger  
_

_Lying about how much food has been eaten  
_

_Flat mood  
_

_Social withdrawal  
_

_Irritability  
_

_Depressed moo--_

Dean shut the laptop with a little more force than necessary and tried to plan out how to make Sam come out with it.

\---------

Dean was waiting for Sam to tell him on his own but he couldn’t wait and instead printed the article about anorexia and held it tight in his hands as he entered his bedroom. The papers would tell Sam two things: he had a problem and Dean knew that he had a problem. 

The older male decided to sit at the end of the bed and wait for his brother to finish showering and come into his room.

\---------

Sam washed his hair slowly, the warm water felt nice on his skin and he closed his eyes, humming low in his throat from relaxation. When he opened them, he noticed the world had seemed paler—like there was a white fog covering it with little sparks dancing across. Sam’s breathing had picked up as well and he dismissed it as the humidity in the bathroom making his lungs work harder. Deep down, he knew this was all bullshit but he had too much pride to admit it.

\---------

It had been thirty minutes and Dean couldn’t wait any longer. He was worried about his little brother being in the shower that long; he only usually showered for five minutes, ten being the maximum. He threw the papers down onto the bed and walked at a brisk pace to the bathroom down the hall. 

“Sam?” Dean called out after knocking a couple times. “Sammy, what are you doin’ in there? Better not be jerkin’ off and clogging the drain with your cum, man.” Dean tried to go for humor but the fear was all too exposed. His heart clenched as he remembered the day he walked in on Sam with blood coming from his wrist. They were healing now and Dean hadn’t seen any on him anywhere else. He had to clean Sam from injuries received on other parts of the body so he knew his little brother—the one he was supposed to protect and was failing miserable at it fl _fuckfuckfuck_ —wasn’t harming himself anywhere else.

Dean jerked at the doorknob, expecting it to be locked but it pushed right open and he heard nothing coming from behind the curtain. His mind turned onto autopilot, _savesammyhelpsammysamsamsam_ , and he pulled back the stupid floral curtain Sam had picked out just to mess with him. 

There was Sam. Light blood swirled around his head from where he was laying underneath the tub’s faucet. He had fainted while showering. 

Dean leaned and grabbed his little brother, one arm underneath his legs, the other right under his shoulder blades, and hauled him up and laid him down next to the toilet, head propped up against the bathroom cabinet. 

_Sammy._

_…_

_Sam_

_…_

_Ple…_

_Sammy_

_.._

_**SAMMY!** _  


Sam’s eyes snapped open and he looked up at his older brother, confused as to why his head hurt, why they were in the bathroom, why he was wet and naked… It all came flooding back to him and tears threatened their way to his eyes, glossing them over like a perfect little porcelain doll’s. A soft towel wrapped around him and he heard the shower turn off, his breath evening out. A hand towel came to rest behind his head—had he really hurt himself that badly?

“Sammy, please… Please just tell me what’s going on,” Dean begged, voice full of hopelessness and sadness. The heartbreak from Sam’s chest was practically audible. 

“I do it instead of hurting myself,” Sam whispered, looking anywhere but Dean’s eyes. He couldn’t stand to see him hurt more.

“Sammy…” Dean groaned, sitting against the cabinet and pulling his soaking wet brother into his arms to cradle him, one hand still holding tight to the blue hand towel, now stained with the deep crimson that was slowing its pace from Sam’s skull. "Please, stop, I’ll do anything to help you,” Dean pleaded, holding onto his baby brother as tight as he could, like if he were to let go, Sam would die.

“I don’t think you can help me…” Sam murmured dejectedly; he’d come to that conclusion long ago.

“You’re wrong. You’re so utterly wrong, Sam, that you’re makin’ me look like the smart one,” Dean said, concentrating on Sam’s lips. There it was. The slightest upturn of Sam’s lips. “See? I can still make you smile.”

“Shut up, jerk,” Sam sighed, head resting against his big brother’s broad shoulder.

“Not until you promise me with all your heart that you will come to me with your problems no matter how small and you will work with me to try to get you better... Bitch,” Dean said, his own chapped lips turning into a slight smile. 

Sam grunted and nodded his head, looking up at Dean with watery, perfect eyes. 

“I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like shit and my shitty problems popped up so I took it out on Sam.


	3. Chapter 3

"You said I could talk to you about anything right?" Sam asked, running a shaky hand through his hair. He hadn't been sleeping well and the coffee just made him anxious, not awake. They had just come from a widowers house; most likely a regular werewolf killing. The restaurant they occupied wasn't busy and the food was freshly made. Sam still had trouble eating but he made more of an effort, ordering a salad with no dressing or cheese, but with chicken, and picked at it more than he would have before. 

"Yeah, 'course Sammy," Dean replied, smiling warmly at his brother. "What's up?" 

Sam let out a sigh and shrugged.

"I don't know. I just don't feel right," he explained quietly, "sometimes I'll just zone out and I'll think of what would happen if I killed myself." 

Dean put down his burger and frowned.

"Sam..." 

"I-I won't Dean. I just... I can't help but think about it," Sam said, putting down the cold fork in favor of sipping his black coffee. 

"You know I wouldn't be able to live without you," Dean commented, picking at his fries. 

"Okay, but what if you could? People always say that but do they really mean it?" he asked after putting his mug back down, hands wrapped around it for warmth.

"Sam, you know me. I fuckin' got mauled by hell hounds so you could live. I stopped you from doing the trials so you could live. Let those sons of bitches continue to walk the earth. I'd do anything for you," Dean comforted, hand twitching like he wanted to reach out and touch the other male's hand.

"Yeah, but why? Is it just because you would be lonely without me? I'm just a person in your life that you can get over, Dean," Sam mumbled, pushing his plate forward, no longer hungry.

Dean got up out of his side of the booth and pushed Sam over to sit next to him. He turned and placed his palms on his little brother's face, turning it toward him. 

"Listen to me. The day you were put into my arms I knew that you'd be the most important thing in my life. Even more important than Dad. I'd choose you over him in a heartbeat. I'd choose you over anyone in the world in a heartbeat. Sam, trust me when I say that I could not possibly be able to live without you. You make my life worth living."

"Yeah, but I don't really do anything good," Sam countered, hazel eyes looking down and not at his older brother's face. "I just fuck stuff up. Never do anything right."

"Hey, hey, hey, that's not true," Dean argued, removing his large hands from Sam's face in order to take his broad hands into his own. "You are one of the best people to ever walk this earth. You fucking sacrifice yourself for the greater good every time. You have a big heart and your compassion for other people saves lives, Sam. You are one of the most important people to grace this earth."

Sam scoffed and looked up at Dean with a small smile. Dean's own lips turned up in the corners as he ran a gentle thumb over the top of Sam's hand. 

"You feelin' better now?" he asked, reluctantly pulling his hands back to rest in his lap.

"Yeah. Thank you, De," Sam mumbled and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. Electricity buzzed through his brother and he honest-to-God blushed from Sam's gesture. The younger male pulled back, face contorted into a thing of worry and Dean just pulled the other into a hug to reassure him without words that everything was okay and would continue to be okay.


	4. Chapter 4

"Dean..." Sam whispered, sadness coating the name.

"Hm?" Dean grunted, rolling over in his bed. His eyes flicked to the alarm clock next to his bed. 2AM. "What are you doin' up? We don't have a case, get some sleep," he grunted. 

"I..." Sam choked out, "I messed up."

"Whadya mean?" Dean asked groggily, sitting up fully to turn on the light. 

Sleep became the last thing on his mind when he saw fresh blood running down his little brother's arm. Crimson traced the outline of his palm, slowly dripping down his middle finger and onto the floor. The older male jumped up and took Sam's hand in his own, turning it over to reveal long stripes dug into his wrist. 

"Sammy..." Dean murmured, looking back up at the taller male.

"I'm sorry," he whimpered, the sound small for such a big guy. 

"No, no, it's okay, c'mon. Let's get these cleaned up." Dean led Sam to the bathroom and grabbed their first aid kit, following the routine he used last time. "What... Why, though?" he asked as he dabbed the wounds, deep lines in his forehead, mouth a sad frown.

Sam was still crying, less now, but his face was a contorted mess of pain and misery.

"I don't know... I just... I can't s-stop, De," Sam whispered, breaths shaky and erratic. "I just can't stop... I like it... I-I do it because I deserve i--"

"You absolutely do _not_ deserve this, Sam," Dean said sternly, holding his arm still and firmly. "You do not deserve any of the pain you go through," he murmured before continuing the procedure. One was particularly deep and he had to sew it up with their limited supplies. 

"I love you," Sam whispered, head turned away and looking at the white tiled floor. Red crossed over his pale cheeks, nose the same color from his crying. Dean stopped his movement again and absorbed the information that Sam presented him. Fuck the "no chick-flick moments" rule.

"I love you, too, Sam," Dean replied quietly, dabbing the stitches and cleaned cuts before bringing Sam's arm up to his lips, placing tender kisses along the irritated skin. His little brother sighed sadly and Dean let his arm go. "Is there anything I can do? At all?" he asked, eyes flitting between Sam and the wounded skin.

Sam thought for a moment. No need to lie.

"No," he said softly, wiping at his still teary eyes.

"We can get you medication, Sam. I can get a job with health insurance," Dean offered, eyes pleading. 

Sam looked up at him through shaggy hair and sighed.

"Might help," he mumbled, already picking at the stitch absentmindedly. His older brother took his hand away from the cuts and held it tight in his own. 

"Gonna get you better, Sammy," Dean promised. 

They sat in the bathroom for what seemed like hours, silent, lost in their own thoughts as Dean stroked a gentle thumb over the back of his brother's hand. Getting a job wouldn't be easy but he'd go right back to hell again for Sam if it meant helping him get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a good way to end this fic but I know you guys enjoy it a lot. Let me know if you'd like to see more or wouldn't mind if it ended.


	5. Chapter 5

It had been a month since they moved into a shitty, one bedroom apartment. Sam suggested a change in scenery and his brother immediately complied. Anything for Sammy. Dean found the cheapest place he could because he wanted to pay with his own money he earned... Well, hustled. Dean took Sam to the bunker so he could help him bring back the essentials: of the mattresses, blankets, a couple of the smallest chairs, pillows, utensils, cups, bowls, and plates. It took a few trips. He said he was gonna miss the shower. Dean took the dead guy's robe. 

The kitchen was small and located in the same room as the living area. There was a small pantry where they kept their salt, holy water, bibles, and other odds and ends used to fight the supernatural. The bedroom was small with the bathroom attached right next to it. Dean put one mattress in the bedroom and one in the living room. He didn't want to leave Sam alone at night but hovering would only drive the younger male more into himself. 

Dean got a job as a receptionist at a law office; he couldn't get much else with his GED and give-em-hell attitude. The nine an hour Dean got paid barely have them enough to eat after paying rent and he usually sought out bars top hustle money. When Dean saved up enough, he bought them a couple bookcases and practically dragged Sam back to the bunker to load up as many books as they could. Sam knew Dean only took him so he could watch him. 

Sam wanted a job to contribute but his brother told him not to. "You don't need the stress, Sammy," he had said. So, Sam stayed home. Occasionally walked to the library. 

Today, Sam had just slept. He was feeling better but he couldn't shake off the blanket of sadness that wrapped tighter around him than the one he used to block out the daylight. 

"Sam?" Dean called out, bumping the door shut with his hip. The crinkle of grocery bags was loud in the quiet apartment and the youngest Winchester just grunted loudly in response so Dean would at least know he didn't die. The fridge door opened as well as the cabinets as he put the food away and heavy footsteps led their way into the bedroom after. The bed dipped and Sam peeked out from under the covers. Dean smiled softly and rested his large palm on the blanket covered shoulder. Felt good. He didn't move it at all and Sam felt something warm stir in him at the affection. 

"I was approved for health insurance," Dean said quietly, his smile growing wider. 

"That's great!" Sam said as enthusiastically as he could. 

"It's gonna be about $400 a month but I can manage," the older male said, hope tinting his emerald eyes. 

"Dean... Let me help. The library is hiring. I like it there. It's quiet and the people know me by name now," Sam insisted, sitting up some. The hand never left him. 

"You sure you want a job?" his brother asked. "Won't stress you too much?"

"God, it's not like I'm gonna cut myself at the tiniest bit of stress," Sam barked and immediately felt guilty for the look that came over his brother's face. "I'm sorry... I'm just... Grumpy. Haven't been sleeping well."

"It's okay. C'mon, I got the lowest calorie chicken noodle soup they had at the store," he replied and stood, offering Sam the previously affectionate hand to help him up. He took it gratefully. Their handsentwined perfectly. 

Dean was careful about getting lower calorie foods. The first time he brought burgers from some fast food place home, Sam had an anxiety attack and locked himself in the bedroom. Dean, of course, lock-picked his way into the room so he could pull Sam into his arms. Sam didn't mind. 

Sam sat on the chair, barely tall enough for the kitchen island for a normal person but he reached just right. He watched his brother cook, that determined face he loved so much. 

"Voila. Bon appetit," Dean said in his cheesiest French accent. Sam cracked a small smile and huffed out a laugh. 

"Yeah. Real fine cuisine, Chef Boyardee," the younger brother chuckled and took a small spoonful of his soup.

"Hey, I never said I was the best," Dean grumbled and nudged Sam's shoulder as he sat next to him to eat his own soup. Dean bought other food for himself but a majority were things Sam accepted eating. Fruits, celery, carrots, even some string cheese. That warm feeling spread throughout him again at how hard his brother was trying. 

"Thank you, De," Sam whispered after a couple more spoonfuls. His brother beamed at him and ruffled his hair. 

"Anything for my baby," he practically cooed and continued eating his soup. Sam's brows furrowed. 

"What?" he asked, confused at the term of endearment. 

"What?" Dean responded, raising a brow. 

"You said 'anything for my baby'," Sam laughed but couldn't help but feel that warmth spread to his heart. 

"Anything for my baby brother," the older Winchester responded quickly, pink tinting his cheeks. Sam just smiled softly and shook his head. 

"You _that_ tired from work?" he teased, silently uncaring if Dean was or not. It... It was nice to hear Dean say that. He had no idea why he liked it. He shouldn't like it. 

"Yeah. Fuckin' Mark was all up in my shit today," the other grumbled before eating more soup. "Kept telling me _not_ to hit on the girls that came in."

Sam felt random jealousy unfurl within him and he didn't understand where it came from. 

"Oh," was all he could say before eating more of his soup. They ate in silence and cleaned up in silence as well. They went to their respective areas of the house--Sam in the bedroom, Dean in the living room. It was past 11 o'clock when Dean poked his head into Sam's room and told him goodnight. Sam smiled and returned the goodnight as well before shutting his book and getting up to turn off his light so he could sleep.

Sam gasped for air when he woke up and immediately began crying again. The dream was still fresh in his mind. Dean. Smothered in blood. He killed himself. Sam didn't know why he would and all he could do was hold him in his arms and cry in that sandy hair he'd miss so much. 

He padded out into rhe living room and wiped at his eyes, trying to get his breathing under control.

"Dean... Dean, please wake u-up," he whimpered, lightly rocking his brother's shoulder.

"Sam, what is it?" Dean grumbled before opening his eyes and seeing the moonlit distress on the younger male's face. "C'mere," was all he needed to say before Sam was crawling onto the mattresses next to him, sobbing into his chest. "What's wrong?"

"N-Nightmare," Sam sobbed, holding tight enough to bruise his brother. "Y-You died," he admitted, tears wetting Dean's bare skin.

"I'm here. I'm here... It's okay," Dean whispered, holding the other as close as he could. The grip on him hurt but it was Sam and Sam needed him. 

After another five minutes of violent sobbing, Sam seemed to calm down, the tightness of his hands easing off of Dean's skin. He looked up with wet eyes and studied the concern on his brother's face. Before he knew what he was doing, he was pressing his lips to the soft cushions that adorned Dean's face. It took the older Winchester by surprise and he had no idea what to do. Something woke inside him. Something dormant. Something sleepy woke up and burst throughout him. It took all of his willpower to pull away from his brother.

"Sammy," Dean began, gulping. He lifted a hand to put the hair behind the other's ear but it stopped short and fell beside him. The fear that radiated from Sam had the younger standing, wrapping his arms around himself.

"D-De... I'm so sorry," he whined, fresh tears falling. Before his brother could answer, Sam almost ran back into his own bedroom.

Stupid.

He was so stupid. 

Sam eyed the bathroom hesitantly and made up his mind. Dean probably hated him anyway, so what if he disappointed him? Sam grabbed the razor he hid under his bed and went into the small bathroom. He lifted up his shirt--still had to interview at the library, couldn't cut his arms--and began raining violent sreaks sideways, across, up, and down his flesh, silently sobbing. He just ruined the one good thing in his life.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam stood in front of the mirror with his shirt off, just staring. He grabbed at the tiny bit of pudge around his middle--he still didn't have even close to enough to have a normal body weight--and teared up. 

"So fucking fat..." he whimpered to himself, eyeing the shaving razor sitting on the ledge of the sink. 

_Just run it down sideways on your wrist..._

A knock at the door forced Sam out of his head and it took him a second to realize what was going on. 

"Sam, I need to pee," Dean said behind the door. 

"A-Alright, hold on..." Sam put his shirt back on and unlocked the door to leave. It felt like the world was slowing when he saw Dean. Despite his disheveled appearance, he was still the most beautiful person he'd ever laid his eyes upon. He looked down at his feet, embarrassed, and pushed past his brother to go lay back down in his bed.

Things were still tense between them and both were barely talking, and when they did, the conversations were short and awkward. 

Sam heard the toilet flush and the water turn on. The door opened after it stopped and heavy footsteps headed toward the doorway. They stopped, though, just short of leaving. The younger Winchester looked up and saw Dean staring at him. The emotion on his face was hard to make out. Dean sighed and finally left the room, heading to the kitchen. 

\---------

Sam cut again. For the first time in months. 

He was at the grocery store and found himself wandering into the aisle with office supplies. He eyed the pack of razors--four for two dollars--longingly. 

They were the last thing the clerk scanned before Sam paid and left. 

He was thankful it was getting colder outside and the shitty apartment heater granted him the excuse to wear jackets inside. 

He sat on the toilet lid, flipping the razor around and around. In one big burst of hatred for himself, he slashed at his arm. The relief that washed over him smothered all feelings of guilt and hesitance.

Sam kept slashing until the wounds leaked that dark crimson he loved to see. He pulled up his shirt and began relentlessly swiping the reddened razor over the tiny bit of fat on his abdomen. He wanted to slice it off--like how someone would cut a ham. He switched between his arm and stomach until he felt the rage dissipate. 

Dean was at work and wouldn't be back until around five in the evening, thankfully. 

Sam let his shirt fall over the bloody mess on his stomach, too sated to even care it was staining the grey fabric. He looked down at his wrist and realized the cuts didn't even stop at his wrist. The went all the way up to his elbow, even a bit above. Laughter bubbled out of him and he grinned. 

_You fucking deserve it, you fat piece of shit_ , Sam growled inwardly.

He got up and washed off the blade, barely dabbing at the wounds. He wanted them to continue to bleed.

_Maybe I'll be dead before Dean gets home._


End file.
